Visions From Inside
by rainjewel
Summary: A very crappy story I wrote for English. It's a brief look into a night at 30 year-old Ralph's house.


I thought I was over it

**Visions From Inside**

By: rainjewel

**A/N:** Yet another English project from myself. This is a short story of Ralph from William Golding's novel, The Lord of the Flies. This book is the one of the best novels I have ever read in my entire life. If you haven't read it, I would highly suggest you NOT read this story and that you promptly check The Lord of the Flies out at your local library!

~*~

I thought I was over it.

Yet here I am, covered in cold sweat with my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming. My breathing is ragged, like I've just run a race. The nightmares have come again. The ones I have about the Beast—the Beast that has my head.

Hastily I crawl out of bed, but I'm careful to not wake Angela. She doesn't need to know about these night sweats. I pad my way to the bathroom and splash some cold water on my face. My sleep-deprived eyes wander to the mirror. Quickly I recoil as I catch sight of the reflection in the glass.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god

My twelve year-old self is staring back at me, myself from the island. Long, dirty blonde hair with a sober face. My hand, my 30 year-old hand, flies to my hair. Short. My hair's always short. I've never let it grow since the island. I shut my eyes tightly and then cautiously open one. 

No. 

_He's_ there. His small, dark, innocent face stares at me. Simon—oh god, Simon. His small frame is still covered in the blood we spilled that night oh so long ago. He gives me a painful smile. 

"I told youI told you Ralph. I told you that you'd get back alright," he says in a weak, wheezing voice. I stare at him, my unblinking eyes wide with astonishment. "You remember, don't you? Don't you remember me?"

"Yes," I whisper, unable to pull my eyes away from the bleeding figure behind me. "I remember, Simon."

"You called me batty. You called me batty, and then you _killed_ me Ralph," Simon says in a childish matter-of-fact voice. There isn't a trace of regret or anger in his voice. For some reason that makes it worse.

"I'm sorry Simon, I'm so sorry Simon, I didn't" I stop. You don't deliver apologies with excuses.

"It's alright Ralph. I forgive you," Simon says in that simple childish voice. Blood pours from his mouth with every word. Involuntarily I run my fingers along the scar that mars my chest. It's the scar that Jack gave me.

"Why are you here? Why do you haunt me?" I say with strained control. It's all I can do to keep from screaming. I grip the sides of the sink, my hands crushing the white porcelain.

"I don't haunt you Ralph, you haunt yourself. You don't think I'm actually here, do you?" Simon asks, his voice becoming more serious, more matured, "Everything's inside of us. Realize that." 

"Youyou are not inside of me!" I whisper hoarsely. Simon sighs, the blood dripping down his sides. Blood, blood, there's so much blood! 

"No! You can't be inside of me! You're _dead_ Simon! Dead!" I'm screaming incoherently now, "Why can't _you_ realize that!"

Simon takes a few steps towards me and lays his small, bloody hands on my arm.

"What's wrong? Ralph! Ralph listen to me! Who are you talking too?" he asks.

"Go away! Leave me alone!" I scream. I reach back with my fist and punch the mirror as hard as I can. It all but disintegrates at contact. I feel the small chips of reflective glass shatter under my fist. The shards hit my flesh, imbedding themselves in my skin.

"Ralph! It's me, Angela! Stop it!" Someone screams. I whirl around, expecting to see the small, bloody boy, the boy I murdered. 

Green eyes and chestnut hair greet my view instead. Angela, oh god, it's _Angela!_ I stare at her in wonder. 

"Oh Angie, I'm sorry," I say quietly, trying to slow my breathing. I'm sorry for a lot of things.

"Jesus Christ Ralph, you're bleeding all over! What were you doing?," Angela says. Her voice is high and thin with worry. I know what she's thinking. She's thinking I'm nuts. 

"Just a walking in my sleep. Don't worry about it. I'm fine now," I say. You're lying Ralph. Don't lie to the ones you love. You've been lying your whole life.

Shut up conscience. 

"No you're not," Angela states with annoyance in her voice.

"Look Angie, I just need some time alone. Please, go back to bed. I'll clean this up," I say with a hint of exasperation. Angela's face softens in the darkness.

"I wish you'd tell me what was wrong," Angela says with a soft, almost pleading voice.

"Nothing's wrong! Just a nightmare! Please, _please_ go back to bed! I want to be alone!" I say with more force then I wanted too. Angela looks at me with hurt in her eyes, then slowly retreats to the bedroom. I listen carefully. Eventually I hear the familiar creak and I know she's gone off to bed. 

"I'm fine," I say to the broken room. Millions of tiny glass shards lie on the tiled floor like cheap gems. They glitter with a black humor. You're lying to yourself, Ralph. It's all a bunch of lies Ralph, and you know it. You're hurting everyone, Ralph. I clench my teeth, trying to block out the words. Somewhere I hear the devil laugh. 

Slowly I make my way to the kitchen, trying not to bleed all over our white carpet. I need bandages and some medicine. And perhaps a good, stiff drink. 

I reach into the cupboard and extract the small first aid kit, placing it on the counter. I begin to bind my arms, but stop when I hear a whisper. Not again! Please God, not again. I hear it again, low and fierce. It's soft at first, but it keeps getting louder with each passing word. No.

_Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood. Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood._

The voices are all around me, as if I was back on the island. Quickly I begin wrapping my hands again. Ignore it, it's not real. They're not here. They're not here. They're not _here._ My own chant is weak compared to their screams Why isn't this waking Angela?

"Stop it. Stop it stop it STOP IT!" I say out loud. 

"You stop it," says a small, quiet voice. Somehow it's able to penetrate the horrid incantation. Abruptly I turn around, the counter behind me, searching for the speaker. Jesus, it's him again. This time, however, I'm not shocked by his appearance.

_Kill the pig_

"It's not me!" I say to Simon. He stands alone in the kitchen; the other boys are nowhere to be found. Still, the incessant chanting continues.

_Cut her throat_

"You don't know how, do you? Why can't you understand?" Simon asks me. A tear falls down his face, making a small clean trail in the drying blood. What do you have to cry about, Simon?

_Spill her blood_

"Understand what?" I ask harshly. If feel no need to be gentle with Simon.

"You're the only one who can stop your own nightmares. You know that, don't you?" Simon states simply. Yes, I know that. I know more then you think, little boy.

"How do I stop it?" I ask him. My god, I'm talking to a ghost. Maybe I am insane. 

"You're no more insane then you thought me to be Ralph. And I told you, _I'm not a ghost!_ Accept that and then you'll help yourself," Simon says with boyish annoyance.

He's right. He's always right, no matter how much I don't want to believe it, he's right. Yes Simon, I know you're not there. I know I'm only battling my own demons. I-

Silence. The kitchen air is still.

"There you go," Simon says with a touch of condescension. "Now everything's better."

No it's not. You're still here Simon. I want you to leave. I don't want to remember you. I want to forget you, and I want to forget everything I ever did to you and what happened on that bloody island.

"Impossible," Simon scoffs at my thoughts. He folds his arms across his chest and ruby droplets of blood trickle to his elbows. Phantom blood.

"You never learn. You won't be able to let go of me, or Jack, or even Piggy until you accept what happened. You were there that night. You were there for it all. It happened. None of your little fantasies about the island being a dream are real. Face it Ralph. **_You were there_**." Simon says. His voice carries a strange passion. Every word he says rings true, and it pains my heart like a thousand tiny arrows. 

"I don't want to believe that." I whisper. It's one of the few truthful things I've said all night.

"It's not a matter of what you want," Simon says. He takes a few shaky steps, his body bending bizarrely like a broken thing. I shrink back with horror at his awful gait. He continues with his gruesome stride until he's a few steps in front of me. With one bloodied finger he motions to me to bend down, like he has a secret. I close my eyes tightly, not wanting to see the horror I created up close, then reluctantly I comply out of the guilt in my heart. 

"It's a matter of the truth," Simon whispers into my ear. I snap open my eyes and straighten my body.

Gone. He's gone. 

"Well, what a great teacher you are, young Simon. Spout your petty advice and then run away. You are nothing but a child," I say to the spot where Simon stood. There are a few blood droplets that stain the floor. 

Lies. That's all they are, just lies, lies, and more lies. I'm simply lying to myself, convinced that lies will make me strong. Simon's right. I need to face the truth. But it's simply too hard to do so tonight.

Just ignore it and it'll go away. Yeah, right.

Finally I make my way back to the bedroom. Angie's sleeping on her side, a worried look on her face. I quickly kiss her forehead, then crawl back into bed. 

"Be at peace Simon. Be at peace" I whisper to the darkness. 

Oh yes, I know I'm lying to myself. Simon won't rest until _I'm_ at peace with myself. I don't need some stupid apparition to tell me that. I don't need you, Simon. I don't need anyone.

I have me, myself, and I. 


End file.
